


The Booty Call Caper

by squeequeg



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Crack Pairing, Implied Red Sox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeequeg/pseuds/squeequeg
Summary: The Countess requests the pleasure of the Duke of Vermeer's company for dinner at Le Crouton Vert.





	The Booty Call Caper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orichalxos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orichalxos/gifts).



The problem started with a loose end.

"Hey, Red?  Remember how I made those dummy accounts to back up your Duchess persona?"

"From the Rijksmuseum heist."  Carmen leaned back gingerly in her chair, wincing a little.  Recovering from cracked ribs took far too much time.  "I remember.  What about them?"

"One of them just got a ping.  And not the usual attempt to hire the Duchess, either."

"People try to hire her?" Ivy looked up from the repairs on Red Drone.  "They'd get a lot more than they bargained for."

"Part of the persona."  Player sounded smug about creating an imaginary thief so convincing she was in demand, but then, Player sounded smug about a lot of things.  "This one got flagged because it's from a VILE-linked account."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right.  It's from Countess Cleo.  And it's not for the Duchess.  It's for the Duke."

Carmen drew a breath through her teeth.  "Think she got suspicious?"

"I'm not sure.  Take a look." 

An image of a gold-bordered virtual card appeared on the tablet between Carmen and Ivy.  Carmen looked it over.  "The Countess requests the pleasure of your company at Le Crouton Vert . . . What's she doing in Amsterdam?  Does she know we're here?"

"I don't think so.  There's nothing that matches up in the new hard drive you gave me.  Far as I can tell, she's in town for an avant-garde art critics' conference, which is being held at the Amsterdam Trois Saison, the hotel next to Le Crouton Vert."

"Something must be up if she's reaching out like this.  Anything unusual at the conference?"

"Hang on."  Ivy reached over and dragged the tablet across the table.  "Lee crooton . . . it's in a hotel?  Where she's staying?"

"Let me check . . . yes.  Under a few layers of aliases."

"Oh my God."  Ivy shoved the tablet away.  " _'I'm in town, come join me._ ' You gotta be kidding me."  She waited for a response but got a blank look from Carmen and blank silence from Player.  "It's a booty call.  She sent the Duke a booty call."

In the silence that followed, the object of said booty call opened the door and dumped several paper bags on the table.  "Carm, Ivy, you gotta try these.  The guy said they're called oliebollen but I swear they must've got the recipe from Twin Donuts' honey dipped."  He looked from Carmen to Ivy and back.  "What'd I miss?"

* * *

There were complications.

"Uh-uh.  No way.  Not if I'm gonna have to eat fish eggs."  Zack crossed his arms and plopped onto the couch.

"It'd be a great chance to get some intel," Player said.  "I can cross-reference what she says with what I've got from the hard drive."

"And there's plenty of stuff that Countess Cleo keeps in her head instead of writing it down."  Carmen smiled, thinking about some of the inter-VILE fighting over record-keeping that she'd witnessed over the years.

"And you think I can get it out?" Zack snorted.  "Good luck with that!"

"You don't have to.  Just give her a few leading questions and you'll get plenty.  We'll do the rest."

Zack shook his head.  "Look, Carm, I didn't mind so much last time.  I was even having fun, kinda, right up to the fish eggs, which, blugh.  But I'm not risking fish again."

"You know, there's gotta be dukes that don't eat fish," Ivy offered.

"What, you're on their side now?"

"Of course I'm on their side!  This'll be hilarious!"

Zack threw an oliebol at her.  She threw one back.  Both ate the pastries and glared at each other.

"You know, she's got a point," Player said thoughtfully.  "I mean, isn't part of the point of being an aristocrat that you're rich enough you don't have to care about convention?"

Ivy laughed.  "Yeah, and it means you get to be 'eccentric' instead of a nutjob."

" _You're_ a nutjob," Zack grumbled.

"It could work," Carmen said.  "Le Crouton Vert isn't known for its seafood, so it wouldn't be top of the list."

Zack sighed.  "No fish?"

"No fish."

"And I don't have to deal with her assistant, the one that looked like they'd just smelled something funny?  'Cause let me tell you, they did _not_ like me."

"I'm already adding it to your RSVP."

He sighed again, a bit more theatrically.  "Fine.  Get me the monkey suit."

* * *

Countess Cleo arrived at Le Crouton Vert in a jet-black Aston Martin, just seconds before a scarlet Maserati pulled up to the curb.  The driver emerged, tossed his keys to the valet, and smoothly edged aside the doorman to assist the Countess out of her car.  "Buona sera, contessa," the Duke murmured, bending low to kiss her hand.

"Looking good so far, Zack.  Though remind me again why you needed a Maserati?"

"Because if we're making him do this," Carmen answered for him, "the least we can do is let him have the fun car to drive."

Zack grinned.  Countess Cleo's brows rose.  "Enchanted, my dear Duke.  Shall we?"

Appetizers – _not_ the tuna tartare – went by swiftly.  Zack said a silent thanks to his ma, who'd when he'd asked for dating advice (just once), told him "don't keep yakking on about yourself, just ask her about her."  It was working so far.  (His ma had also told him to wash his hair for once and put on a clean shirt, but he'd ignored that at the time.)

"This is good," Player mused.  "Ask her again about Monaco.  I think I have a cross-reference for a missing manuscript there."

"Uh-uh.  Ask if she was there two summers ago," Carmen offered.  "She wasn't, but you'll be able to run with that."

Zack set down his water glass (easier to remember which was his when there were only two of them).  "Tell me, were you in Monaco, mm, two years ago in the summer?  I could have sworn I saw you there."

Countess Cleo gave a little laugh (which Carmen found unnerving but did not mention).  "Oh, not I.  No, I had to be in Singapore for business then.  Had a simply dreadful time."

"Singapore, Singapore . . . got it.  Nice job, Zack!"

"It's still pretty weird," Ivy said from her continuing repair work.  "Not complaining, though."

The one stumble came during a discussion of vintage port.  Zack couldn't hide his flash of utter confusion, and the Countess frowned.  "You can't possibly be unaware of the 1815 Ferreira, my dear Duke."

"Uh-oh," Player said.

Ivy looked up.  "Do we need extraction?"

Zack drew a deep breath.  "No, Countess, I don't know about it.  It's never been of interest to me."  Her frown deepened.  _Think like a duke, think like a duke . . . aha!_   "I prefer to be a bit more selective in terms of my expertise."

The frown disappeared, replaced by surprise.  "Oh, really?"

"Yes."  Zack smiled.  "As a more, hm, thoughtful man than I once said, it is of the highest importance not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones."

Countess Cleo's lips parted, then curved into a smile.  "Why, you cheeky monkey, quoting someone so very much on the other side of our profession."

"Sherlock Holmes," Player murmured.  " _A Study in Scarlet_.  Nicely done, Zack."

 _I am so glad Carm made me read that_ , Zack thought.  _Although I liked the TV better, not the new one but the old one with the manic Dracula-looking guy.  He was all right.  Oh crap she's talking again._

Conversation continued through the first course (tartine aux truffe) and the second (duck a la espionne), with Player cross-checking and Carmen offering suggestions.  By the time dessert (beignets aux miel) was served, though, the suggestions weren't so needed to keep conversation going.  "His accent slips when he's talking about cars," Carmen reflected off-mic as Zack waxed poetic about the Aston Martin.

"You think it'll be a problem?" asked Player, who was never off-mic.

"I . . . don't think so."  They were both silent.  "Is he . . . actually flirting with her?" Player said finally.  "And is she flirting back?"

Carmen turned to Ivy.  "Do you think there's any risk of, uh . . ."

Ivy didn't look up from Red Drone.  "This turning into a real booty call?  Uh-uh.  Nobody in our family has ever had sex or ever will, including our parents."

That caused another silence.  "Can you maybe unpack that a bit?" Player asked finally.

Ivy glanced at the tablet.  "Did your voice just crack?"

"No!"

"Sure it didn't."  Ivy stretched and leaned back, tipping her chair until it wavered on two legs.  "No, see, it's a convenient fiction that makes it easier for all of us to get along and/or live in the same house without going ewww all day.  Blissful ignorance."

Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose.  "Can we focus?"

"I am focused!  Besides, we got nothing to worry about.  Now, if he was taking her out for a walk, then we'd be in trouble."

Player cleared his throat.  "Uh. Zack just asked the Countess if she wanted to take a turn around the grounds."

Ivy's chair tipped all the way over, and she clambered out of it.  "Aw, crap."

"Oh, no," Carmen murmured.

"Maybe it's a, a chance for him to get more information out of her?"

"Your voice just cracked again, Player," Ivy pointed out.  "This is bad.  Really bad.  And I'll tell you why."  She pointed at Carmen and, in lieu of Player, at the tablet.  "This whole thing could go wrong at any second, right?  And we can't leave him in the lurch, right?"

Carmen nodded.

"So we _can't_ turn his mic off.  And I don't know which of you wants to listen in, 'cause it ain't gonna be me."

If dawning horror had a sound, it might be like the noise Player made. 

Ivy shook her head.  "What is he _thinking_?"

* * *

Zack was thinking the following:

1\. A really pretty lady is listening to me and laughing at my jokes.

        B. This is awesome.

            iii. Even if she's evil.

VI. There is the possibility of makeouts.

  * This is also awesome.



C. I am helping my friends by doing this.

      ii. I can help them more by doing more of this.

     3. Even if it involves makeouts.

          a. Which, again, awesome.

4\. Also I have looked around and there are no dogs for her to feed me to so I am probably safe.

All of this, plus his old man's often-announced advice ("if you like a girl, take her out for a walk!  Anything can happen on a little walk!") had contributed to the current situation, and given that the current situation involved a pretty and nice-smelling (if evil) lady holding on to his arm as they strolled in the moonlight, he was pretty sure it was a good decision.

"Beautiful night," he said as they passed another awkward statue.  "The gardens here are lovely."

"Indeed."  Countess Cleo smirked.  "I own a substantial share in the hotel, so I've provided some insight into the décor."

"A recent acquisition?"  _Yeah, that sounds like something Player could use . . ._

"Oh, among others.  After that dreadful debacle at the chateau, I decided to move some of my assets around a bit.  Some American investments: a portion of their wilderness reserves, one of their sports teams – the Yankees, I believe they're called – a senator or two, that sort of thing."  She snuggled up against his arm and turned so that her face was perfectly framed in the moonlight.  "Pausing to admire the view, my dear Duke?"

"I, ah."

_"Call for extraction now!" Ivy hissed._

_"Why?"_

_"Just do it!"_

Zack gently extricated his arm.  "I think I'd better ask them to bring the cah around."

"Really?  So soon?" Her voice took a briefly dangerous edge, enough to bring Zack back to himself a little.

He lifted her hand and made himself brush his lips over her glove.  "A prior commitment, unfortunately coming to mind.  I hope you will forgive me."

"I see."  She withdrew her hand.  "Another time, then?"

"Ah."  Zack managed a weak smile.  Over her shoulder he saw the valet driving up with the Maserati.  _Thank you, Ivy!_ "We'll have to see."

He got into the car and paused long enough to call something out the window before flooring the accelerator.  Fortunately for the staff of Le Crouton Vert (who had begun to prepare for a towering rage on the Countess' part), the Countess took it as a declaration of heartfelt farewell.  Fortunately for Zack, she hadn't been able to hear the whole thing.

* * *

"Oh my Gahd."  Zack yanked off his bow tie and tossed it across the room.  "You coulda warned me, Player!"

"I . . . didn't think it was important?"

"Not import –" Zack shook his head and slouched against the wall.  "You should get out more."  He suddenly jerked upright.  "She didn't follow me, did she?  She's not going to come after me?"

"You're clear," Carmen said.  "And soon the Duke will be a ghost."

"Oh, man.  Thanks." 

Ivy tossed him a red-and-white jersey.  "Got you this for once you're out of the monkey suit.  I'm proud of you, bro.  _Don't_ hug me.  Not till you've washed off the Yankees."

"Yeah, I need a shower."  He shuddered. 

"Don't take too long.  Sox are playing tonight."  Ivy nodded to the couch and TV, and an orange-and-white box.  "And Carmen and Player got us treats."

"I got the one Dunkin' Donuts in Amsterdam to deliver," Player said.

Zack grinned.  "You guys are the best."


End file.
